Grey Ship, Grey Ship, Can You Hear Them Calling?
by Skande1
Summary: LEgolas suffers from sealonging, leading to a chain of misunderstandings between he and Aragorn in a situation that quickly spirals out of control. Revision In-Progress
1. West West Away

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Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling?

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Written by Skande

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To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,

The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.

West, west away, the round sun is falling.

Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling.

The voices of my people that have gone before me?

I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;

For our days are ending and our years failing.

I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.

Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,

Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,

In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,

Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!'

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Summary: Legolas suffers from the sea-longing, but keeps his pain from Aragorn for fear of burdening his friend needlessly. Aragorn, misunderstanding his friend's actions, lashes out without thinking, leaving them both hurting and angry.

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Disclaimer: Oh, come on! Ahem I own Tolkien!!! Okay, so how many of you fell for that? Yeah, that's what I thought...

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Chapter One:

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West, west away...

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Prologue

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Sickening hazes of black and red swam before his closed eyes. The ground beneath his feet rolled and bucked like some thing possessed, similar in experience to riding the shoulders of the cave troll he had slain so many years ago in Moria. A fist of fire had firm hold of his stomach, and was twisting it now with sinister venom. Lances of fire, heated beyond the flames of the mortal world, lanced through his stomach, his arms, chest, head, through every vein, leaving him gasping for the breath just to scream. He doubled over his knees, clutching his stomach, tightly clenching eyes that threatened now to spill hot tears of agony.

Worse still, came the inner waves of torment that ripped like vicious claws of malice through his very soul. Crushing, pounding, demanding that he give in to them. Demanding, coaxing, whispering, hurting, soothing....

Just turn back...

No...

It hurts less, to look back...

No-- I cannot... It will try to claim me this time...

Leave the pain...

I have not the strength left to defy it again...

Look back....

No...

Look back...

No!

Look back...

NO!!!

And it was gone.

Gasping for breath, Legolas fell to the cold stone of the floor, before going limp completely and passing into welcome blackness.

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Chapter One:

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West, west away...

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"Gimli, have you seen Legolas?" Aragorn halted mid-stride as he passed the open doorway of the small dining room, before backpedaling to look inside at the dwarf seated there.

Gimli burped slightly as he looked up from his ale and addressed Aragorn. "Last I saw him," The stout creature grumbled past wiping his beard, "He was out singing to his beloved trees in the Queen's gardens."

Aragorn, gripping the doorframe with one hand as he leaned back slightly to speak with the dwarf, sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes in a decidedly unkingly fashion. "Did you not tell him we expected Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn to meet us tonight for dinner?"

"Of course. He headed in straight after to prepare."

"And did you somehow remember to mention that we will be receiving the delegates from Harad then as well?"

A blank look from the dwarf almost confirmed Aragorn's suspicions. "Of course I did laddie!" Gimli chuckled, "But I'd be surprised if he heard me."

Aragorn didn't ask what that meant, but rather, sighed, before turning to ascend the stairs in search of Arwen. He only hoped Legolas would remember to be at dinner in an hour...

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His head pounded through the blackness, effectively stripping him of the warmth of unawareness. He could sense light from behind closed lids, and realized his head was actually pounding in time to a steady rhythm that seemed to shake his entire body. Unknowingly, he moaned softly, and the movement stopped.

A voice?

"Prince Legolas?"

What in Valar's name--

"Lord Legolas sir, can you hear me?"

Why was he being awoken in the middle of the day? Where was he?

"Please, M'lord, are you alright?"

He swallowed, and managed somehow to crack his heavy eyelids open. It took a long moment for the blurry world overhead to come into clear focus, and then he found a single face, concern written through his eyes, leaning over him. Taken aback at the unfamiliar figure, Legolas started, the sudden motion causing the other man alarm as well and he pulled back abruptly.

"Lord Legolas?" He repeated, "Forgive me for startling you. Are you well, M'lord?"

Legolas frowned slightly as his overwrought mind tried to process this comment, and then remembered that he had collapsed in the hallway. If he had been the kind of person able to easily blush, he would have done do now, profusely. The man who had found him, obviously a citadel guard, knelt beside him now, his spear lain aside.

"I am well..." Legolas murmured half-heartedly. With effort, he slid his arms under him and tried to sit up, half of him hating, half of him welcoming the guard's supporting arm on his shoulder as he did so.

"What happened to you, M'lord?" The guard asked in concern as Legolas swayed slightly. The elf had not the strength to answer as he contemplated that question himself.

Valar, had it become that bad?

He had heard only faintly the far-off cry of a single gull, probably a lone scavenger in one of the lower levels, but it had been enough. Moments later he had found himself at a balcony off the hallway overhanging the city, his eyes glazed and unfocused as they had taken his mind to the sea.

The sea.

Even here, in Minas Tirith, so far from that place of pain and joy! But the sea had come to him, like the cool caress of the wind on his hurting soul, and he had listened unwisely to its sweet, seducing tune. The waves crashing on the shore, the gulls crying their sorrow as they swept overhead, the soft spray on his face...

"M'lord?" Snap. He was thrust back into painful reality. "M'lord, you are not well. Let me help you to your rooms..." Even as the guard was saying this he was gently pulling Legolas up with him as he stood,

But how had he ended up collapsing in the hallway, almost to his own rooms, when he had originally been making his way to find Aragorn in the center of the citadel? Because he had run. Like a frightened child running from a nightmare he had fled that balcony, but the pain, the sorrow, the longing—all had overtaken him. Had he really passed out this time? Valar, it had never been this bad!

Legolas moved numbly, his feet taking each step of strictly their own accord, his mind barely aware of the guard walking close beside him, ready to reach out a steadying hand should he falter.

Somehow, someway, he finally reached his own, wonderfully familiar quarters, and the guard opened the door for him, something he usually would never have stood for. Usually. At the moment, all he wanted was for the guard to leave so he could collapse and still retain some remote shred of dignity.

Groggily, even as he stepped inside, he remembered and spun back towards the hallway.

"Wait--" Legolas caught the guard's sleeve as the man turned to leave, and the man stopped abruptly at the Prince's tone of urgency.

"Please--" Legolas hesitated, and the man helpfully supplied his name.

"Haelon, M'lord."

"Haelon— Please-- Speak no word of this to the King."

The young man frowned in confusion at the odd request, but nodded slowly in acquiescence.

Legolas sighed gratefully with a quick nod as he let his eyes flutter shut in sheer exhaustion for just one moment. "Hanon le..."

He opened his eyes again, and quickly realized his mistake. "Forgive me-- I meant that you have my thanks."

The man only grinned and nodded once more in response, before departing. Legolas stumbled back a step once the man was out of sight and leaved heavily against his door as it closed.

If Aragorn ever caught wind of this, Legolas groaned to himself, he would never let the elf have a moment's peace.

Turning, the headache in his mind having reached the point of obnoxious, he stumbled to the bed, collapsing onto it just as his strength gave out.

He had the vague feeling, or perhaps the remembrance, that he was supposed to be somewhere for dinner... But maybe he was wrong...

In any case, consciousness fled on a breath only a moment later, leaving his exhausted body to dreamless sleep for the second time that day...

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The incessant knocking outside the elven Prince's door did not awaken him from his deep unconsciousness. Nights of sleeplessness had left his body starved for rest, and it welcomed the forced reprieve gladly now. The Prince's door cracked slowly open, and inside appeared the head and shoulders of Haelon, the guard that had found the elven Lord unconscious in the hallway earlier. He glanced inside the room warily, his eyes seeking out the elven Prince, and stopped in alarm as he saw the lithe figure collapsed on the bed.

Quietly, he cracked the door open just enough to enter, and moved towards the bed cautiously. He carefully placed two fingers at the side of Legolas' throat, feeling for the slow pulse. He frowned slightly, noting that the elf slept with his eyes tightly shut and wondering why that struck him as odd for some reason. He knew next to nothing about elves, but he had heard that they slept with their eyes open, save for extreme cases of pain or exhaustion. Than again, the Elven Lord did not seem so much different from a man, and the things he had heard he wrote off as rumors originating from people with overactive imaginations and too much time on their hands.

Haelon sighed as he gazed at the Prince's thin form. He had been highly concerned earlier in the day on finding the Prince in his state, thinking an assassin might have somehow slipped past the guards, or something of the like. And although he had sworn to the elven Lord that he would not inform King Elessar of what had taken place, that did not mean he was not going to keep an eye on the elf. If the Prince had been truly hurt and the king found out, or worse, found out that he knew and had not told him, there would be Melkor to pay.

Besides-- The elven Prince was widely known as one of the Nine Walkers and an acclaimed hero of the War of the Ring, as well as the King's closest friend and Lord of Ithilien. Not only this, but his warm, open personality had endeared him unknowingly to many of the people in Minas Tirith and Gondor.

Satisfied that the Prince was well, but only sleeping deeply, Haelon turned quietly, and left the room like the shadow he had entered it.

- - - -

Arwen picked quietly at the meat on her plate, glancing up discreetly at her husband. Aragorn sat on her left, at the head of the table. The delegates from Harad were seated at the opposite end of the table, and Eowyn and Faramir were to her right. Directly across from her, between Aragorn and Gimli, was an empty seat.

Legolas' seat.

Aragorn radiated anger and irritation now, not much in contrast to his earlier nervousness and irritation. The alliance to be discussed later tonight after dinner with the ambassadors involved Ithilien just as much as it involved Minas Tirith, and Aragorn had been very dependent on not only Faramir, but especially Legolas being present.

The elf was his best friend, and had been since Aragorn's childhood. Theirs was a close bond, far closer to brothers even than friends, and they depended upon each other with an unfathomable trust. And Aragorn had depended upon Legolas' presence at this meeting.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Aragorn grinned graciously at his guests, the smile ringing with a strained quality everyone at the table but the Haradrim noted immediately.

"Honored ones..." He nodded respectfully as he stood, followed by all others at the table, "If you would, now we may adjourn to the council room, where we can better speak of the reasons for your long journey to Gondor."

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Darkness. So welcoming, so calm... It swirled around him, in grays and blacks and misty tendrils of lingering dreams. If only, he wished, he could remain here forever, wrapped in the comforting embrace of disconnection from the world all around him. It was so much better than the pain, the sorrow, the torturous knowledge of what was too come and the feeling of hearing without being able to respond. This was peace.

But it was not to last. A horrible banging sound threw Legolas awake and he bolted upright in alarm. Someone was banging on the door, very likely Gimli, who was the only one he knew who had enough strength behind a single knock to shake the room.

He swayed as he stood up quickly, but took a moment to compose himself. This was getting ridiculous. He was elvenkind. He was poised, graceful, strong. He was strength. Smoothing his tunic hastily and summoning to face more calm than he felt, he stepped towards the door, which was literally shaking with the force of the blows rained upon it.

He pulled it open with neither haste nor rush, and could not conceal the surprise that flashed across his face to fond not Gimli before him, but a rather flustered King of Gondor.

"Aragorn--?" He began in surprise, but was promptly cut off.

"Legolas, how could you do that to me?" Aragorn stormed, before realizing he was all but shouting and closing his eyes momentarily as he drew a deep breath to calm himself.

"Wha-"Legolas began in utter bewilderment, but was, again, interrupted.

"I was counting on your being there! I needed you, Legolas!"

Realization hit Legolas like a slap in the face. "The dinner— Valar, Aragorn, forgive me, I—"

"You what? Where were you? How could you forget something like that? It was incredibly important, and not only to Gondor, but to Ithilien!"

"Estel— I'm so sorry..." Legolas could only murmur softly, horrified at himself for abandoning his friend like this. A part of him wanted to feel hurt at Aragorn's harsh words, but another part of him knew he deserved every one. He had betrayed his best friend, and the thought brought his eyes to rest upon the ornate marble floor in shame. Guilt clenched at his stomach, like the streaks of fire that had assaulted him hours ago, just as painful but in a whole different way. He had never heard Gimli's call after him about the Haradrim arriving, so he didn't know exactly what Aragorn met about the dinner having been important not only to Gondor but to Ithilien as well. At the moment, however, he was too stunned to question it.

Aragorn only scoffed in reply, unable to control his reactions, fed through his frayed emotions, although part of him cringed inside for talking to Legolas this way, and at the elf's reaction.

"Sorry isn't good enough, Legolas!" His voice dropped to an angry undertone. "Where have you been all this time? Where were you when I needed you?"

No answer was forthcoming, but Aragorn mistook Legolas' hesitation for something other than it was, never suspecting the pain tearing through his friend at that moment. Legolas was cringing inside. There was no chance he would ever consider telling his best friend what really plagued him, and where he had been because of it, but what excuse could he give? No excuse would make up for what he'd done. And so he offered none, waiting in self-condemning silence for Aragorn to finish.

"We meet again tomorrow in the Council Room." Aragorn said coldly when he received no answer. "Don't be late."

Confused, Legolas looked up, meaning to question Aragorn as to why they would meet and with whom, but his best friend had just begun to close the door, and it slammed directly in his face.

Feeling horribly as if he had let his best friend in the world down, Legolas stared numbly at the closed door long after Aragorn's footsteps had faded away.

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Guess what? I'm going to not ask for reviews, and see what happens! Let's try reverse psychology! Yeah, yeah, that's the ticket.... hint hint


	2. The Round Sun Is Falling

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Grey Ship, Grey Ship, Can You Hear Them Calling...

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Chapter Two

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The Round Sun Is Falling...

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As the last Haradric delegate was shown from the room and the ornate double doors closed with a heavy wooden thud behind them, Aragorn, King of Gondor, leaned back in his chair and heaved a ragged sigh. His eyes shut for a long moment as one hand went up to rub his throbbing temples. During the dinner he had half hoped Legolas would show up at least to join Faramir and himself in the Council Room, but it was not to be. Although Legolas had made a habit of skipping meals while in Gondor, Aragorn had been highly counting on his friend's supportive presence at this Council.

As he sat in contemplative silence, he realized just how much he had counted on it. Aragorn was used to having Legolas by his side. He had been there during most of his childhood and adult life, during the War of the Ring, and now after. He needed him. He was much more than a friend; more like a brother, but lately also a Lord of Ithilien and vassal of Gondor. A brief look at the Prince, with his calm and stoic exterior despite whatever he might be feeling inside, always seemed to give Aragorn strength. And strength he had needed today, because for some reason, this particular meeting had made the usually composed King of Gondor nervous, although he had not shown it outwardly.

The Alliance with Harad had been anticipated for quite some time now, and he desperately wished for it to work out—Nay, he needed it to work out. Harad was a powerful country, with a strong militant force, one that could easily pose a threat to Gondor without the protective assurance of an alliance.

Faramir had, of course, been there, and although the Lord was also a good friend and loyal lord to the King, it had not been the same. At least someone had been there to represent Ithilien...

Standing, and feeling only slightly less put off, Aragorn crossed the room with the long, sure strides that had so often marked him as nobility even in his days of disguise as a Ranger of the Wilds. Pulling open one door just enough to slip out, he entered into the hallway and automatically turned left into the higher levels.

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By the time Aragorn was headed towards Legolas' quarters, his temper had reached the boiling point. Maybe it was because of the pounding headache thrumming in his ears, or maybe it was because he surely must have questioned at least three dozen guards before finding one that had seen Legolas that day. He certainly had never expected the guard to point him, albeit hesitantly, to Legolas' quarters, for the Prince rarely spent much time there when in Gondor. The elf, much like Arwen, preferred the open air of the upper level battlements or the Queen's gardens to the restricting walls of stone that made the White City.

Reaching the Elven Prince's rooms at last, Aragorn contemplated just opening it. Changing his mind, he raised his fist and pounded on the wood. Waiting a moment for an answer he did not receive, he knocked again, longer this time and with more force. A moment later, the door opened.

- - - -

Only minutes later, angry at himself, Legolas, and the world, Aragorn slammed the door in Legolas' face and stormed swiftly back down the hall. He didn't get far before his steps began to falter, and then ceased altogether. Groaning, he whirled and slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.

He realized now, after the fact, of course, that he had overreacted. By the Valar, Legolas was his best friend! No matter what had happened, he had had no right to talk to the elf that way. He was remorseful, but still angry. Legolas rarely, if ever, attended any social meal while in Gondor, which was why the King had made certain to request that he do so tonight. Where had Legolas been? Why hadn't he answered him that question, and what could have possibly so much more important to Legolas that his friend would just ignore his request?

He did try to apologize... A nagging voice in the back of his mind pointed out helpfully, but he pushed it down. In his place, Aragorn would never have done this to Legolas.

But why does it make me so angry? He wondered inwardly. Why did I expect Legolas to be there so much that when he did not come I was literally unraveled? I am the King of Gondor! An entire alliance does not rest wholly on a single vassal's presence at a meeting!

Brushing his over-acted irritation off as the combined result of a lack of rest, nervousness, and a major headache, the King of Gondor continued down the corridor that would lead him to his own rooms, and Arwen, now heavily pregnant with their first child.

As he walked, he could not avoid the distinct pangs of regret. "I'm sorry Legolas..." He muttered aloud with a half-sigh. "I didn't mean to take it that far..."

- - - -

Heart heavy with an emotion that he could only guess at, Legolas sank back onto the bed, letting his head drop forward to rest in his hands. He shook his head groggily, trying to clear his vision of the grey haze of weariness, so familiar now. He could not go back to sleep. It was only a matter of luck that he had dozed off earlier without being assaulted by visions of the sea, but he would not try again. He could not. His body was well enough off with the two hours he had just had, and the guilt eating at his heart could not be pushed aside.

"I'm sorry Aragorn..." He whispered to the night as he looked up, back at the door that had closed behind his friend minutes before, "I didn't mean to let you down..."

As a shuddering sigh raked through his body, he unconsciously pulled closer the shell of pride and nobility that sheltered his heart. All he knew was that he couldn't give in. To the pain, the weariness, and the guilt. But especially the longing. The constant tug at his heart towards the sea, the ring of the waves that would try to overwhelm him as soon as he opened himself or let down his guard.

He had long, long known, that this was coming. He had been warned. By himself, by his father, who had warned his son that his friendship with mortals would destroy him, and yes, even by the Lady Galadriel. This was his fate. As it was the fate of Aragorn to become King Elessar Telcontar, and as it was the fate of the elves to leave Middle Earth.

He had first known there at the Havens of Umbar right before the Battle of the Pellenor Fields, as a flock of gulls had wheeled overhead— as the breakers had roared on the shore, crashing onto the sands, and as the spray of their moisture had first touched his face, that he would never again know true peace. He would never be free of the net that had then captured his heart. He had hidden the pain then, because it had not yet consumed him. He had been guided by a higher purpose: To see the Ringbearer's quest through to the end, and to be there at Aragorn's side as his friend continued on his own quest to embrace the destiny he was born to.

And now?

The ring had been destroyed. Frodo, showing off the true resiliency of Hobbits in flying colors, had destroyed that tool of Sauron in the fires of Mordor.

Aragorn had claimed his throne and his destiny. Legolas could still remember how his heart had throbbed with the intensity of the pride and joy within him as Gandalf had placed the silver crown on Aragorn's brow and his best friend had turned to receive the applause of the people of Gondor.

And now there was nothing left for him to look to. No promise made to hold onto, to keep him taking every step. Nothing to hide behind, no wall made of promises and quests to pull up, nothing to guard his heart from the agony.

Only Aragorn.

If the sea were to torment him, second by second for the rest of his life, with a pain beyond Mortal pain, he would stay. For his friend and for his brother, for the love they shared and the promise made, he would stay. Not until Aragorn's last breath left his body would he depart these shores, for he had sworn this, unbeknownst to the King of Gondor. He loved the man far more than anything else in Middle Earth, and if Aragorn asked him to stay even past his death and unto the ending of the world, he would.

But you couldn't even make it to a simple dinner! He mocked himself. What kind of friend is that?

Longingly, he looked down at the bed he sat on. Sleep seemed so inviting, as if the two or three hours he had been unconscious had been but a teasing memory. His body was so weary, and although minor compared to the severe exhaustion that had haunted him continuously for weeks, right now all he wanted to do was give in and let the darkness take him again.

But he could not. He had to make it to the Council Meeting in the morning He had all but lost control over himself, and the nightmares sure to come helped to make sleep unattractive enough to resist. If he fell asleep again, who knew when he would be able to wake up? And so he stood, beginning to pace as he prepared himself for another long night of sleepless guilt and heartache.

- - - -

Faramir let a slight frown shift to cover his features as he pulled his door shut behind him. He too, had noted Legolas' absence and wondered at the cause of it. He had also realized how much Aragorn felt it and had done his best to support the king during the difficult meeting with the Haradaic tribal delegates.

Yet also, he was worried about Legolas. Years of working together with the elf, nurturing and coaxing the forests of Ithilien back to life after the shadow that had held them in sway for so long, had bound them close together. So close in fact, that more than once Faramir had caught himself thinking of the elf as his best friend. He knew Legolas did not return this sentiment; only Aragorn ever could, but he did know the elf considered him at least a very close friend. The elf would never, ever have stood Aragorn up without a good reason, and even then it would have been surprising.

He opened his door again, and decisive steps carried him in the same direction his King had taken almost an hour before.

- - - -

Knock, knock. The sound was soft and steady, and Legolas knew who it was right away. He had long ago learned to tell apart the knocks of his friends, as well as strangers, and now unbelievable relief flooded through him as he looked up towards the door from the window he was leaning out of. He felt he would either burst or collapse at any second, and the distraction was so welcome he felt almost like sobbing his relief.

"Faramir!" Legolas smiled brightly as he pulled the door open. "Welcome, my friend—" He pulled the door open, inviting his friend in with a gesture of his hand.

Faramir smiled warmly at the elf, not missing the relief in his face. "How do you fare, Legolas? We missed you at dinner."

Legolas immediately sobered and his eyes fell to the floor.

"Legolas?" Faramir prompted gently, noting his friend's discomfiture as he shut the door.

Legolas sighed softly, looking away as Faramir searched his face.

"You're not well my friend—"Faramir frowned, finishing his scrutiny.

"I am well, Faramir." Legolas brushed him off with a wave of a slender hand.

"I already know you're not, so why do you lie to me? It is truly useless." Faramir returned, gently but firmly. He would not be so easily fooled.

Legolas sighed heavily. "Faramir—"He began, but the man sternly cut him off.

"If you do not at least tell me what is wrong, I will tell Aragorn that you are ill and he will make you tell him."

"Faramir!" Legolas jerked his head up, wide eyed.

"I mean it."

Legolas seemed torn, before waving his hand once more in dismissal and turning back to the window. "I have simply been— weary— of late, it is nothing." He deadpanned, desperately hoping the man wouldn't press him.

Faramir nodded reluctantly, as if to let the matter drop. But he did not.

The Lord of Ithilien was not stupid. But he was an excellent actor. He had had many years to nurture this talent, albeit unknowingly, at the side of his brother Boromir. Many a time it had been left to him to answer to their father for a sly piece of mischief or a prank that had left a member of the staff or a citadel guard in flusters, simply because Boromir would not have been able to resist the urge either to squirm, blush, or just burst out laughing. As children this trait had been invaluable, and had dragged both brothers out of countless near-miss consequences, and it came into play now as well.

He was not going to let this drop. Something was bothering Legolas horribly, and he was going to find out what it was. He had caught the look in his friend's face at his question, and it was then he had known he had struck true.

"Very well, Legolas." Faramir looked away. "Why then, do you not get some rest? We are meeting with the Haradrim again in the morning."

"I know." Legolas began, "Aragorn already told—"Stopping short, Legolas' head suddenly jerked up and he looked back at Faramir.

"The Haradrim?" He questioned sharply.

Faramir frowned. "Yes, the Haradrim. The Haradaic delegates..." His voice trailed off as realization dawned. "Tell me you knew they were here...?"

Legolas shook his head in shock. "That is why he was so angry..." He whispered numbly, as if to himself. "They have arrived already, and I was not there—" He groaned softly as he buried his face in his hands.

"What did Aragorn say to you?" Faramir asked in alarm as he reached out to touch his friend's arm. Legolas jerked away angrily, not at his friend but at himself.

"How could I have forgotten?!" He moaned, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the windowpane, "I let him down! I knew they were coming..."

"Legolas—" Faramir began helplessly, not knowing what he could say to comfort his friend when he didn't even know what ailed him. He hesitated, before placing his hands on Legolas' shoulder, since the elf had his back to the man. "Legolas, I can help you, if you would only tell me what is wrong—"

"No Faramir!" Legolas pulled back violently, startling Faramir. "You cannot help me! No-one can! Not unless you can still the song of the waves or silence the gulls, and not until then— Not until then..."

Faramir watched in open-mouthed shock as Legolas stumbled back a step after this outburst, and then turned and swiftly ran out the room, almost as if he were running from himself. For many long moments, Faramir could not move. He was so stunned at Legolas' reaction to him that his limbs had seemed to freeze in place.

He had known Legolas for three years now. Never—Ever, had the elf raised his voice at anyone, or let slip the calm, complacent mask he so often used to hide pain, sorrow, and hurt. The man had first seen this powerfully in effect when the Prince had traveled to the havens to see his father, King Thranduil of Mirkwood, one last time before the Elven King left for Valinor. Legolas had returned to Ithilien, his face an emotionless mask. He had not spoken a word to anyone, even Faramir, but had only nodded slightly and offered a strained smile when Faramir had spoken to him. That was on his way to his own quarters, for Faramir had been visiting the Elven Colony at the time. Legolas had closed the door of his quarters, and had not opened it again for three days. By that time Faramir had already left, and neither of them had ever spoken of it again.

Now he had been given an unexpected glimpse, however brief, at Legolas' heart and soul, and it hurt. It hurt that he had never seen his friend so deep. It hurt that his friend was in pain and he could do nothing to help him. And it hurt that he did not even know what was wrong.

But that, he swore to himself, was going to change. He was going to find out what was ailing his friend, and he knew just where to look.

- - - -

The heavy door creaked softly as it was pushed open just enough for Faramir to enter. With the torch in his hand, he shut the door and took it around the room, lighting the candles mounted on the walls as he went. When he had finished his task, he surveyed the room in quiet satisfaction. Row upon row, shelf upon shelf of books lined the walls of the Citadel vaults, now illuminated in an almost other-worldly fashion by the flickering candlelight.

The generations of the kings were here in this room, contained in every weather-stained parchment and long-forgotten manuscript. Thousands of years worth of knowledge were contained within, and they had been enriched even further during King Elessar's reign, for his adopted Elven father, Lord Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell, had given his son all of the books in the Libraries of Imladris upon his departure to Valinor.

It was these, written by the elves, that were Faramir's object of interest, and without further ado, he dropped the torch he carried into an empty bracket by the door and began his search.

- - - -

Author's Notes and Commentaries:

- - - -

Oh my golly goodness!!! I can hardly believe all the reviews I already received, for only one chapter! That is just... wow.... ! I'm dumbfounded!

Ahem—Okee-doke then— I'm afraid I won't be able to handle individual reviews—Not like anyone wants to know anyways, but I currently have eight separate LotR fanfiction's going, a fantasy novel, several RP's, four websites, an art portfolio, a monthly newsletter and a comic strip, PLUS I'm training a new horse, so hopefully you can understand that I'm a little busy, but I'll try my best! Usually I never update this fast, but all those reviews just got me so motivated I had to type up this second chapter to live up to you guys! Thank you so much! I love you!!! So this hyper-quick update is for all of you! You guys got me so happy, in fact, that the day after I checked back I wrote most of the next chapter and finished it on my laptop at McDonalds yesterday! So, you see? Reviews really do work!

As to FAQ's, yes, I plan on continuing this story—and because of the interest so many have shown, much faster then I had originally planned. It was going to be short at first, but I have a lot planned out for it already so it will be longer than expected. Also, if Aragorn did seem a little off key to you, hopefully it will all be explained! Aragorn is one of my favorite characters, right up alongside Legolas and Faramir, and I would never make him the bad-guy! So rest easy! He just has a lot going on, with the alliance and ruling Gondor and Arwen being pregnant and all, so give the guy a break! Lol! He's getting it bad enough from me...

One of you pointed out a spelling mistake to me—Thank you so much! I really appreciate that! I also found one, but not the one you pointed out, and if there's anything I hate more than slash stories it's gotta be spelling mistakes! When this story is complete I'll probably end up re-uploading any chapters with mess-ups like that, so I would really appreciate it if anyone sees any more, to let me know! I'll give you skittles...?

Oh yeah—One last thing: I feel a little embarrassed asking this, but could anyone give me some tips on text tags? Italics, bold, underline, ect.? I've tried normal HTML, which I use a lot, but it doesn't want to work for me for some weird reason...

For those of you that are interested, I'll also be posting several more stories ASAP, all of course, centered on everyone's favorite Elf and Ranger! I have a wealth of incomplete stories and chapters on my other, non-net computer, so as soon as I have the means to transfer them I'll have them posted!

Okay, now that was almost as long as the chapter, so if you made it all the way down to here you deserve a Purple Heart!

Thanks a ton!

-Skande

(-Skittles and Elevators!)


	3. Grey Ship, Grey Ship

- - -

Grey Ship, Grey Ship, Can You Hear Them Calling...

- - -

Chapter Three

- - - -

Grey Ship, Grey Ship

- - - -

His heart a whirlwind of emotions as turbulent and unruly as the ocean that had thrown them in his face, Legolas fled the room. He couldn't think. He couldn't see. He couldn't breathe. And he wished he couldn't feel.

But he could, and he could feel his heart being ripped into a hundred pieces and being pulled in a hundred different directions. Blindly, his feet took him to the one place where, usually, he could find some semblance of comfort. The one place in this city built of dead stone, where he could find life.

- - - -

Gimli son of Gloin took one step backwards, running a critical eye over the object on the table. With a dissatisfied grunt, the dwarf stepped forward once more to labor for almost another half of an hour.

When next he backed away he was slightly winded and what skin could be seen beneath his bristly beard was flushed with effort. But he was also smiling this time, and with a chuckle he began to empty stray tools into a leather workbag.

When he had carefully sorted each file, rasp, knife, saw, awl, and trinket into its proper pouch, he dropped it onto the ground and swept the table clean with a brush. Sighing in perfect contentment, he was then able to fully admire his masterpiece.

If Aragorn or Legolas had noted his continued absence while in Gondor, they said naught of it, and it was little wonder with the hectic lives they led. For once, Gimli was glad of it, for now he need offer no excuse for his long and mysterious disappearances during the day. But that was over, because the short wooden table in front of him held his treasure.

It was a box. But not just any box—this box was the product of hours and days of steady labor, much time and energy, and a certain amount of dwarvish tenderness. The item was mostly made of silver, but in the top wood had been placed, beautifully engraved with curving lines and graceful, flowering forest trees, intertwined with veins of purest silver. Two of the trees in the center of the lid had branches that curved around into each other to form a slightly oval circle, and the veins of silver met together to swirl together there, around a small, uncut emerald.

And just as the box was not merely a box, neither was this emerald merely an emerald—But it was the purest, most perfect gem Gimli had ever been blessed to work with. It was the shifting color of Mirkwood trees at twilight, the color of the grass and the color Legolas so often wore.

Ever since the very first moment he had seen the stone, he had seen this box; seen every line and curve and color. And now it stood on the table before him, complete at last.

For this was no ordinary box:

This box was made to hold something very precious to Gimli, and there was only one person he would share that knowledge with.

And as the box was a very special box, and its contents equally so, this person was a very special person. A very special friend...

- - - -

Arwen's footsteps brushed over the soft grass, her bare feet moistened by the tiny dewdrops poised on every blade. Sinking down onto the ground beneath a willow, the Queen of Gondor let one slender hand come to rest on her enlarged stomach.

She sighed, troubled. Something deep inside told her that her first child would be arriving soon, but it was almost a month too early. A sick feeling fluttering in her stomach made her press down a little in dizzyness, waiting until it passed to take a deep breath.

For comfort, she lifted elven eyes to the sky, twinkling with a million stars. The moon shone like a silver ring, illuminating the city below and reflecting off high spires, lighting the gardens with a clarity that rivaled the sun's. It was on nights like these she could almost imagine she was back in Rivendell, staring up at that same night sky. The sky she had watched from the delicate balcony of her own room in the Last Homely House for a millennia or more.

She missed her home true, and she was unfamiliar with the customs of men even after several years among them, but she was glad that Gondor had accepted their elven queen, making her burden somewhat lighter.

Startled, Arwen physically jumped as she was broken from her muses by a dark shape suddenly appearing in front of her. Her heart jumped into her throat and she stood quickly, ignoring the new dizziness that assailed her with the sudden movement.

A hundred questions skipped pell-mell through her sub-consciousness, but she tried to squelch down her fear. She was in her private gardens in the heart of the Citadel. No Assassin or enemy could have possibly made it this far into Minas Tirith without detection; the White City was simply too well guarded. But then, how could anyone other than another elf or a deadly assassin approach one of the firstborn so quietly? She knew she could not possibly have been so entirely absorbed in her thoughts as that.

All these thoughts took but a fleeting second of time, but after they had passed, she recognized the being before her.

"Legolas?"

"Forgive me Arwen—I did not think you would be here—" Legolas stuttered, alarming Arwen. What was wrong with him? He looked pale and shaky, not at all the confident warrior prince she had known as a dear friend for years.

"It is well Legolas, you startled me is all. Are you well?"

"I am well Arwen—" Legolas brushed her off tersely as if it were a subject he was not going to discuss, even as he began to back away. "Forgive me for disturbing you."

Arwen had barely taken in all the words before Legolas was gone.

- - - -

Faramir's hand flew up to rub his forehead automatically, and absently, he realized he had been doing that a lot that night. Piles of books surrounded him; He had given up returning them individually to the shelves after scouring their pages. He had become intimately acquainted with the fact that Elrond's libraries in the hidden valley must have been far vaster than he had realized. It didn't help much that his understanding of the elvish language was shaky at best. And every book was written in prefect elvish. Every line was flowing, the words liquid and smooth, but he doubted their author had written them with anyone other than a learned elvish reader in mind—Forget a curious man of Gondor!

He had only recently begun to understand how foolish he had been to walk down into the Citadel vaults in the middle of the night with one torch and no idea what in Arda he was truly looking for. There must have been thousands of books that he had searched through diligently, and how many thousands more were yet left to be searched? Such a thing might take him years.

But through his toils, he had found one paragraph on one page of one thin, leather-bound volume that might hold the answers to his questions: With a little translating assistance from Aragorn.

It was the account of an elven lord, speaking of his son.

"_It was then that I realized that the call of the sea was upon him; this was his strange affliction, and I came to understand that the only cure for such a thing was remedy not to be found in the books of lore of the shelves of a healer, but in the tossing spray of the waves on the shore, of the cry of the white gulls and the call of the West. But alas, it is only to sail and follow his heart's longing that will bring him peace, and until the day his ship leaves these fading shores, his heart will find peace in neither sleep nor waking, and the sea will torment his soul even unto fading..."_

Stunned, Faramir let the book fall back into his lap as he leaned back in his chair, ignoring his creaking back. Could it...? Was it possible? That this was what ailed his friend?

_Even unto fading..._

_This cannot be!_ His mind roared at him. _Think logically! Legolas is ill; there is a logical explanation for his behavior!_

_If so, how could I have been so blind?_ His mind argued back, before Faramir quickly silenced both opinions.

He had, in a way, promised Legolas he would not speak of this to the King, but he was not so stupid a man as to hold stubbornly to things beyond his control or understanding. He would watch Legolas like a hunting hawk from there on out, and if he sensed even the slightest thing amiss, he would be sure that Legolas knew in no uncertain terms that he was to see Aragorn immediately or Faramir himself would.

"Promise or no Legolas..." He murmured, standing sharply, anew fire flashing in eyes that held no trace of former weariness. "Although you are my dearest friend, I serve not you, but Aragorn."

- - - -

_What is happening to me?_ Legolas pleaded desperately to the stars. They answered him not, twinkling back with wise understanding that they kept to themselves, any secrets locked away past his probing eyes.

"Help me, Elbereth..." He continued his elvish prayer in a soft whisper, concentrating with all his waning strength on the twinkling spheres overhead. He concentrated on those faithful stars, on the thrum of the tree where he rested, a single deep chord in the resonating song of life in Arda.

He had to, he had to think of anything but the ocean that tried so desperately to ensnare him.

He concentrated on the brush of wind against his hot face, on the steady song of the night insects and the dance of the fireflies below. He concentrated on every infinitesimal movement of each blade of grass on the ground, and every leaf of the mighty tree.

And as he ran long, slender fingers gently over the richly textured bark, he realized how alike this tree was to himself.

The tree was the oldest of the trees in the White City. Long had it stood alone, forgotten in the waning gardens of Denethor's late wife. Doubtless the same gardens had once thrived under Finduilas' watchful care, but upon her death her husband had let them go to waste. All the plants and most of the trees had died then, all save this one. It had clung to the tattered threads of life stubbornly, knowing its fate was to fade but refusing to accept that without expending every remaining drop of strength to remain.

And remain it had, it's thick trunk gnarled and weathered. It had been more than half-dead when the gardens had been cleared and replanted under Arwen's care, and now the greenery and plants thrived about its roots once more. Flowers lifted their colors to the sun in silent worship, birds nested in its boughs, and its leaves thrived green and healthy. But Legolas knew it was only a matter of time before all that kept the ancient life in Arda vanished. The birds would seek other resting places, the flowers would wither and die, and soon the leaves would fall and fade to nothing.

Although the tree seemed healthy, it was still half-dead.

There were parts of it that had died long ago, and what was dead could never be brought back to life.

Thread of silver moisture spilled over through Legolas' closed lids to trace smooth paths down marble skin. _And it is so..._ He though sadly to himself, _What is shown on the outside as healthful and alive may be fading away without knowledge, dying inside. And what is dead can never be brought back to life... _

There was, of a sudden, a tight band of steel around his chest that wouldn't let him take enough air into his lungs, and he clenched the branch beside his hand with a white-knuckled grip, as if physically reality would bring the mental and emotional into perception.

"Legolas? Is that you?"

_Valar, is there nowhere I can find peace?_

"Yes Gimli, it is I." Legolas found himself surprised at the amount of levity and control he could pour into his voice at will. It made him wonder how much else he had been hiding from the world—And himself.

"Are you never weary, elf?" Gimli jibed brusquely, "Why are you not in your rooms?"

Legolas wanted to laugh bitterly. So ironic. _Yes, I am weary. I am bone weary, weary heart and soul and mind. But I dare not sleep, for I can no longer find rest in slumber, no peace in dreams, and even my restless sleep betrays me to those I hold most dear._ He would never, of course, tell the dwarf what he was really thinking, and so his automatic response came quickly to his lips.

"I am well Gimli."

"May I—"The dwarf began, but was startled to be abruptly cut off.

"I do believe Faramir was looking for you, master dwarf. He said it was quite important."

Gimli frowned, and began to say something, but shut his mouth when he realized he was staring at an empty tree that had contained an elven Prince only moments before.

- - - -

Growling in irritation, Gimli stomped back to his own rooms.

_That flighty elf will be the death of me! What's gotten into him this time!? Couldn't even stick around long enough for a decent conversation! His beloved tree's likely been telling him old stories and legends that got him all emotionally strung up again..._

So flew the dwarf's thought as he bustled back into his room, casting a disdainful glance at the precious box in the center of the table by the window. Undressing with forceful, jerky movements in his irritation, he removed layers of chain mail and leather. In a cloth tunic and ready for a good night's rest, he returned to the table by the balcony, carefully arranged so the moonlight reflected off of the gem just so as to mirror the room with specks of pure green.

Carefully, he lifted the lid and set it on the stone tabletop beside the box itself, and then bustled back to the other side of the room. From a cupboard—Specially sized for a dwarf's diminutive stature, as was everything else in the room, he removed a small leather bag, and from this he removed a smaller, silk bag.

If he had been gentle with the box than with this he was all but reverent, and as he took it carefully to the table, cupped in rough, stout, hands, the sight was almost comical. A short, ruddy creature, gruff and Dwarvish in every aspect of the word, cradling a tiny silk bag tenderly to his chest.

He set it then upon the table, and with more gentleness than one might have guessed likely in a dwarf, removed the object from it.

Set in a stone of glass perhaps the length of a hand, were three shining golden threads, gleaming like misplaced tendrils of lingering sunlight within the crystal. The stone was unblemished and extraordinarily clear, the surface as smooth and perfect as water might have been.

It was this stone and its wisps of captured sunlight that found its reverent throne upon the formed velvet lining of the majestic box, and when the bag was returned to the cupboard, Gimli gazed upon this memory with unhidden admiration and awe.

It was many long minutes ere the dwarf tenderly shut the lid of the box and turned back to his bed, preparing for another long day of councils and useless speech.

As his mind wheeled into the blissful realm of peace, he distantly hoped Legolas would get some rest as well that night so as to be ready for the Council in the morning.

And Legolas knelt upon a high branch of the mighty oak, his cheek pressed lightly to the great trunk as it was moistened with the hot tears of turbulent emotions...

- - - -

The next morning Legolas did not meet Aragorn's eyes as he, Faramir and Gimli filed into the council room to be seated at the round table. A domed roof of skylights left the room airy and light, and Legolas was grateful for this at least, for it refreshed and rejuvenated him after the long night. It was the next best thing to being outdoors, which was needless to say, not an option at the time being.

Four exotically attired men were the next to enter, each with soft turbans of rich purple or crimson shades, their flowing white robes lavish and rich, outlandish and decked with peculiar ornaments. The long curved swords that hung in tasseled scabbards from their sides were only ceremonial, but still impressive— even a little intimidating.

It was exceptionally easy for Legolas to pick out from among them the man of highest status, and it was this man that commanded his attention and held it. He was a great monster of a man, large and rotund in his glistening, white satin robes and bejeweled turban. An enormous gold necklace made of palm-sized plates splayed across his considerable chest, and a dark beard of wispy hair covered his chin and flowed down his torso. Dark, calculating eyes gleamed out from beneath the ledge of his brows, and as his eyes met with those of the elven Prince just briefly, Legolas had to suppress the prickling shudder that attempted to claim his spine.

The man quickly turned away however, as if afraid to hold Legolas' eyes overlong, but the elf was unable to shake the feeling of dread that took his heart in a cold grip.

There was something very wrong with these men from Harad.

Legolas had felt it even as they had first entered the room, and now he was certain of it. He had not been present the night before when the treaties and alliances with the different tribes of the Haradwaith had been discussed— and the very remembrance sent a pang of guilt through his heart— but he knew now that their intentions were not well. He wondered how Aragorn had missed it, but he would certainly need to inform the king, as much as he did not look forward to that task. He was elven-kind. He did not so easily discount his feelings and instincts.

The conversation was getting harder and harder to follow, and Legolas fought the urge to physically shake his head to clear his mind. His hearing seemed to be almost fading in and out, and strangely, when he thought about it, so did his sight. He didn't know what was happening, and he hoped it wasn't merely his own mind playing tricks on him.

Cold panic clenched at is gut as he finally realized that it was him, and consciousness hovered dangerously. Frantically, he grasped for the straying threads of reality, desperate to remain aware and not humiliate Aragorn by passing out and causing a scene.

_If you pass out here, Aragorn will never forgive you for the rest of his days!_

He knew it was not even remotely a true thing to think, but he had to think something to keep himself grounded in reality. And it worked. Gritting his teeth against the nausea, he kept his chin up, his back straight, and his eyes open.

It was only now that he was able to throw enough of his senses outwards again to be intelligently capable of processing his immediate surroundings. And to his dismay, he found all eyes fixed upon him.

Aragorn raised one eyebrow questioningly, and Legolas could read the veiled irritation there easily enough. Desperate, he scrambled for whatever semblance of tattered pride he could muster.

"Forgive me King Elessar, my mind strayed but a moment. Did you address me?"

Legolas cringe was only on the inside, but it was definitely real as he saw Aragorn's jaw muscles tighten almost imperceptibly. The man only waved his hand dismissively. "It is no matter."

The discussion slowly recommenced, but it was much longer before Legolas' face returned to its natural creamy pale—or perhaps not so natural. Legolas didn't even want to admit to himself how much this hurt. All he wanted to do was to get through this meeting without passing out or humiliating Aragorn even more than he had already.

He was now becoming more and more afraid that both goals would have been missed by the end of that hour....

- - - -

Hello again everybody!

First off, you have my profound apologies on how long it took me to update! I stayed up 'till 1:00 last night to get this done for you, so be happy!

For those of you wondering where Gimli's been, wall, this chapter's for you! He will be in this, he just wasn't in the first two chapters! I also appreciate the bond he and Legolas have, and I wouldn't just toss it aside by any means!

So tanks a trillion-and-one to:

**alexa **

**kel **

**lolly pop3**

**Sunn-Kissed**

**Eathiln **

**evil spapple pie**

**clpm-9 **

**kel **

**Snow-Glory**

**Mornflower**

**Irish Anor**

**Lady Lenna**

**Boromir**

**Barbara Kennedy **

**Deana **

**Ertia**

**Rae132:** HERE!!! Ya happy? I've been rushing to make sure you have tons of alerts in your inbox by "this time tomorrow" lol!

**Laebeth :** Wow, you're an artist too? That is so cool! And professionally? Wow.... How cool is that! Speaking of an online portfolio, yes, I have one in progress, but am having some difficulty— Ie, my ancient scanner broke, lol. But my dad's bringing me home a new one today, so I'll be able to give you the link in my next update, cause it ought to be up by then. I'd like to see your work too- do you have yours online? I also love meeting other artists, although I don't that often! :-) Ta-taa, and this Gimli-full update's for you! Take care!

- - - -

Also, thanks to all of you who tried to help me with my tag problem, but although your suggestions didn't show up in the reviews, I managed to struggle through it on my own! But thanks anyways!

Again, let me tell you that I love your reviews! Getting online and finding reviews in my inbox is like getting daily Christmas! I love it! I am also highly flattered by how much y'all like this story, and now I'm going to ask you a favor: Would you go read Unbreakable, as well? That is the one I've been pouring all my time and energy into, and I'd love to hear what y'all think! I updated yesterday, in case you've been wondering, but it hasn't really been getting many reviews...

Anyways, let me stop blabbering and leave you to review, 'cause you know you want to!

Toodles!

-Skande


	4. Can You Hear Them Calling

- - -

Grey Ship, Grey Ship, Can You Hear Them Calling...

- - -

Chapter Four

- - - -

Can You Hear Them Calling...

- - - -

Strangely enough, Legolas found he was actually able to follow the meeting well enough, with an almost numb detachment, allowing him to push aside the pain that throbbed through his whole body and process most of what was said. Aragorn—probably disgusted with him—did not address him again, for which the elf was both glad, and guilty, knowing his friend had a good reason for this.

The Haradrim wanted Aragorn to sign a treaty saying that both lands would maintain peace for twenty years, at which time the treaty would be renewed by both parties. The delegations, scouts and peoples of each land would be allowed safe passage through the other without search or question, and it was to this aspect of the treaty that Aragorn did not readily agree. The King of Gondor argued that it would be safer for both countries if peoples of both realms were questioned, and if needed, searched upon crossing the borders. He could not so easily guarantee that his people would not try to harm the people of Harad without his knowledge or consent, and it was well known that the men of the desert, in turn, held no great love for the Gondorians.

For some reason—although it might have been Legolas' less than trustworthy perception that caused this—it seemed to the elf that this irritated the Haradaic delegations. Were they not here, after all, to negotiate the treaty?

It took all of his concentration to glean this knowledge, and so he did not notice the intent looks he kept receiving from certain people at the table. Faramir was one of these, who was becoming more and more convinced that he knew what was ailing the elven Prince, as well as Gimli, who was irritated with the elf for a similar reason. No-one at the table, however, noticed that the elf was also receiving strange looks from a certain member of the Haradaic delegation as well, nor did they perceive the strange glint in the desert man's eyes.

The meeting passed uneventfully, and for the most part, without conclusion. The Haradrim would retire to consider the King's conditions, since he was adamant in his choice. The King also would further observe the document the foreign ambassadors had presented for his viewing, and they would meet again in the afternoon of the next day.

The races exchanged formal bows before the Haradrim left the room, their faces dark with displeasure at the outcome of the council, but reserved for the most part, as they were guests in another's kingdom. Next Gimli reluctantly left the room, casting a dark look in the elf's direction which went unnoticed, followed by Faramir, who waited at the door for Legolas.

Legolas began to slowly stand, but Aragorn heard him and spoke without turning around.

"Legolas. A moment, if you would."

Legolas flinched at his friend's icy tone. He had hoped that his inattention earlier in the council would have been pushed to the back of the King's mind by the time the meeting ended. Obviously, it was not so.

He looked to Faramir, noticing the worry in his eyes. He appreciated the concern he saw shining in the brown eyes, and he expressed this by giving him a shaky half-smile, but it was unnecessary. Faramir bowed slightly to both, and closed the door softly behind him.

A long uncomfortable silence ensued within the spacious chamber, broken only by Faramir's fading footsteps down the hall.

"Forgive me, Aragorn, I—" Legolas finally began quietly, shame coloring his voice.

"No, Legolas." The elf froze as Aragorn cut him off, an angry bite to his words that Legolas had never had directed at him. "I don't _want _another apology."

The man spun sharply, his eyes blazing as he continued. "Legolas, I demand that you tell me what is going on at once!" The human King fumed. "I really don't have the patience to beat around the bush with you right now! You aren't paying attention, you aren't participating, and you aren't explaining to me what is wrong with you! If you don't want to be here, just say something! As a representation of a key province of Gondor, I need you to be active in these negotiations, but I won't force you to be here and you know that."

Aragorn wasn't meaning to be cruel or calloused, but he didn't know how deeply he was hurting Legolas with his words. He loved his friend as life itself, and in his normal frame of mind he would have doubtless been aware of what was happening. Right now he was simply a tired, stressed, over-taxed King, and his friend was unintentionally getting the brunt of his frustration for something that was not his fault. The worst part was, however, that the elf believed he deserved it.

"Aragorn, I'm sorry, I—" Legolas faltered, knowing there was really nothing he could say at this point to make up for everything that had happened. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up, and had Aragorn been less uptight he might have been tempted to confide in his friend and ask for his help in overcoming this. Now, however, he just wanted to last every next moment without adding to the tension already on the King's head.

While the elf was still wracking his weary mind for words to make restitution, Aragorn clasped his hands behind his back and long angry strides took him to the window. Silence prevailed heavily for many minutes, accompanied by a heaviness both friends felt keenly.

Legolas head was bowed, but he still saw it when Aragorn's shoulders slumped and most of the tension drained from his body in a heavy sigh. His face was weary and worn from the weight of the burdens of his kingship, and Legolas noticed more than ever the few silver strands that streaked his friend's dark wavy hair.

"I'm King now, Legolas…" The man finally whispered to the view of the city below, "I'm the King of Gondor. These walls of stone are on my shoulders and they're driving me into the ground…" He sighed again, a mirthless laugh breaking from his lips as he seemed to speak to the city instead of to the elf. "When my father first told me who I was, I was angry. My life had taken a turn I had not foreseen or desired, and my plans for a carefree future, traveling as a ranger and battling the shadows were crushed beneath a fixed destiny. I didn't want it, and I didn't choose it. I have accepted it now, but I _never_ chose it."

A gull screeched from somewhere in the city below, causing Legolas to shiver, but Aragorn didn't notice. It was many long moments ere the elf's soft voice cut through the stillness. He sighed, looking at the ground. "It has nothing to do with whether or not you chose, it's whether or not you were chosen." He murmured, "You can choose your friends and make your future, but you're born with your family and stuck with your past." He finished with a slight smile, eyes glazed in memory.

Aragorn blinked, turning his head to look at his friend oddly. "My, my, Legolas—" He grinned wryly, his eyes regaining a dim reflection of their former twinkle, "Who'd have guessed I had such a wise friend?"

Legolas chuckled mirthlessly. "You don't. Indeed, far from it. It's something my father told me, before he left…" His gaze remained distant as Legolas stepped up beside Aragorn, but unlike the King's gaze, which fell to the streets and people below, his eyes turned to the distant shores and to greener places. "I told him I had no wish to remain behind and bear the burden of a dying race. I had no wish to stand by, helpless, only watching the inevitable decay that will destroy all those I love. I do not wish to be the last of my people to leave these shores, yet it shall be so. It shall always be so."

Aragorn swallowed, finally glancing at his friend out of the corner of his eyes. The look on the elf's face as he gazed distantly out into the mountains struck Aragorn's heart to the core. It caused him to remember the days long ago when he had first known the elf. Whenever things went wrong—where others were quick to point a finger and shift the blame— Legolas was instead swift to blame himself for things, taking a burden of guilt that usually was not his to bear, condemning himself often unto the point of making himself ill.

Aragorn had always tried to help the elf, when he could, to see that it was not always his fault, and although it seldom made any difference, the King of Gondor felt a bitter taste in his mouth as he realized that Legolas was very likely beating himself up even now for missing the meeting. Aragorn had been angry, but he had never meant for things to turn out this way, or to make Legolas feel as the man knew he probably did at the moment.

"I'm sorry, Aragorn."

"No, _I'm_ sorry Legolas…" Aragorn sighed in frustration, rubbing his forehead with one hand and dropping his chin. "I shouldn't have been so hard on you. If you're under half of what I am you deserve a break."

Legolas was, needless to say, surprised by Aragorn's abrupt change of mood, but it also made him feel even worse, if that were possible.

He sighed remorsefully, looking away in renewed shame. "It's alright, Estel. This past fortnight has been hard on all of us. The fault is mine, for I should have been more available to you."

"You _were there_ Legolas; I just regret that you were _there_ to get the full blast of the past fortnight." Aragorn seemed to be talking more to himself then to Legolas by now as he ran a hand over his face and turned back towards the window.

Another lull, during which time Aragorn started thoughtfully at the floor. He finally faced gravely back to the elf, who was still too remorseful and shocked by the King's half-apology to form words at that moment. The man smiled—not a smile of mirth or joy—but a half-smile of unsatisfactory conclusion, one which barely turned up the corners of his mouth. He briefly clasped the elf's shoulder with his hand as he passed, and headed for the door.

Legolas fought to retain control of his breathing until the man had gone, which was quickly becoming harder to manage. His heart was beating quickly and his seeing seemed to be fading in and out once more. The nausea was always worse when he was standing.

Aragorn's hand brushed the door handle, before gripping it and pulling it half-open. As an after-thought he half-turned back to the elf, still standing numbly at the window, shoulders slumped.

"You need not join us for supper, Legolas." His voice was quiet and clipped, and held more of an edge than he had intended, but he did not take it back.

Turning away, he pulled the door shut firmly behind him.

- - - -

As soon as the door swung shut behind Aragorn, Legolas collapsed to his knees, gasping as the world swan before his eyes. He blindly reached for the window seat which he only knew was somewhere in front of him, balling his fists in the cushions as the pain washed through his mind like the waves of the same ocean that spurred them on. It hadn't been this bad since the time in the hallway, when all of this had reached it's peak. Something had to give, soon.

Grinding his teeth together and clenching his eyes shut so hard it burned, Legolas gripped the cushion with white-knuckled strength, his forehead against the wood. He tried to keep his breathing quiet in case Aragorn still lingered near. Another blast of pain made his shoulders heave, but all he could do was desperately hope it would be easier on him this time, and that it would end quickly.

And pray that Aragorn did not return to find him this way.

- - - -

Aragorn pulled the door shut behind him, but his hand strayed a moment on the handle as he felt a pang of remorse for his final sharp words. Legolas would surely tell him if something were wrong, would he not? He turned away, but his steps were slow as he continued down the hallway, in direct contrast to his whirling mind. But then, Legolas did have a painful habit of keeping those things to himself. The King of Gondor stopped in the hallway, looking back at the door that had closed but moments ago between him and the elf he had called brother for most of his life.

_-_

"_Will we always be friends, Legolas?" A twelve year-old Estel, sitting on the ground on the balcony in Rivendell, turned innocent gray eyes up to the elf perched on the railing above him. "Forever?"_

"_Of course we shall be friends, Estel. The best." The elf whispered back with a brilliant smile, his features glowing softly in the moonlight. "Always and forever."_

_-_

Aragorn sighed at the almost eighty year-old memory, the internal battle that raged in his mind clouding his gray eyes. He might be a King and a ruler, but first he was a friend. Legolas did not deserve the kind of treatment he had been getting from his best friend. Nay, he deserved the honor and respect due a hero of the War of the Ring, and the recognition the quiet elf had never received for his part. And he deserved Aragorn's friendship, strong and loyal despite the circumstances that tested it.

"_Two people can easily be friends when all things are well. It is when the world falls apart and the shadows fall that the true test will come. Remain true to your friends, Estel, as they are to you, and you will be blessed beyond all the gold of Middle Earth." _

Aragorn turned sharply, his eyes darting about. He could have sworn the voice had spoken from right beside him, the familiar sound causing his heart to jump in his chest. It had been so many years since Lord Elrond had left Rivendell for the Eternal Lands, and the remembrance of those words, spoken in love when Estel had been very young, still unmindful of his heritage, evoked a tide of emotion in his heart.

He sighed raggedly; chin dropping to his chest as he braced his hands against the wall. The words were true, and he realized his reluctance to turn back was due to his own shame towards the way he had treated his best friend, and not because of the former anger, irrational, and now dissolved completely.

So decided, Aragorn squared his shoulders and turned back towards Legolas and the apology he needed to give.

- - - -

In the meanwhile, Faramir was having difficulties of his own.

These came in the forms of old, dusty books which were really not all that interested in going back into the spaces where they had fit perfectly only the night before. He pitied the next man who would attempt to search among them, since he was certainly not going to take the trouble to remember exactly where each book had originally gone.

He had replaced almost all of the books from the night before and was trying to cram an especially thick one into a space too small for it, when, unnoticed to him, two shadows entered the room, their steps stealthy and their presence unannounced.

It was only moments later, when Faramir's senses warned him that all was not quite right in the room that he began to turn. He was too late, for he was only in time to catch the blow upon his temple before his world crumpled into blackness.

- - - -

Gimli son of Gloin was in a sullen mood. Hunched over and running his thumb along his axe blade, he sat in his own room upon a bench, staring at the box upon the table. The three golden hairs of Galadriel gleamed in the crystal he had encased them in years ago, as soon as he had returned from the Quest to his own people. This box, although he was loathe to call it such—for it was really more of a shrine— had been a thing he had desired to make ever since then. He had even told Legolas all about it: how it would have tall trees alike to the Mallorns of the Golden Wood graven upon the lid, how the placement of that perfect emerald would fit, and what color the interior would be. The elf had listened with good-humored patience, as always, although unable to resist jabbing a little at how he doubted a dwarf would ever have the ability to make something so beautiful as the shrine he had described.

Gimli had made it, and he was almost as proud of it as he had ever been of Galadriel's gift to him. Now the only thing missing was that blasted elf. Now that the dwarf's attention was not split over the creation of his wonder, he had begun to notice that Legolas was acting a little… Well, _odd_ lately…

The elf had seemed quite pale at the council —well, paler than usual— and the usually perceptive dwarf had finally noticed the tension between Aragorn and the elf, a thing he most certainly could not understand. In all the time he had known the two, they had certainly had their disagreements, but nothing like this. Aragorn was ever aware of the elf's tendency to step into the background when the credit was being given, or to keep his thoughts, fears, and emotions to himself for fear of burdening or hurting a friend. As such, he would constantly be trying to encourage the elf to step up, to open himself up to those who wanted to help him. Now it seemed very much as if the elf was hiding something, and not doing as good a job of it as usual. Aragorn too was uncharacteristically ignoring the elf, so it seemed to the dwarf that he himself was the only one still thinking straight in the place.

Never one to sit still long, Gimli stood and closed the box, sliding it back on the table and hefting his axe—his constant companion day and night. He would ask Aragorn if he had noticed anything strange about Legolas' actions, and then he would see if he could find the elf and ask him what exactly Faramir had wanted of him the night before. The Steward of Gondor had insisted he had said no such thing, and Gimli suspected Legolas had said it merely to turn Gimli's attention away from himself.

Little did the stout creature know that the next time he did see the elf, it would be under very different, and very unexpected circumstances.

- - - -

Wow, can you believe your eyes? An update? Is it truly possible? Yes, it is! Behold, miracles do happen! I have finally been delivered from the clutches of the green-eyed monster called real life, although he is still hot on my tail.

Sorry again for the late update: Would you believe I had this chapter ALL typed up, and then my computer ate it!? ARGH!!! What a sick twisted world we live in!!! LOL

Anyways, a great, big, huge, AWESOME thank-you to:

BK

SILD

washow

Sunn-Kissed

Mellaithwen

Musicstarlover

lil'piggie#3

Viresse Lote

Lady Elwen Iluvalatari

baby-legolas

astalder27

Star-Stallion

kel

Irish Anor

spiritstllionofthecimarro

lolly pop3

Ertia

Catmint

Alatariel Narmolanya

crimsonskye

masha

Jedi-Bant

littletoaster2345

dawn

crazyrabidfangurl01

suncatcher277

Tinnuial

Barbara Kennedy

Snow-Glory

- - - -

Lady Elwen: Thanks for the e-mails, and thanks for reviewing!

Deana: Thank you so much for the review and the e-mails! They really prompted me to get going on this.

Rae132: Hey, where've you been? And you changed your name, right? Lol thanks for reviewing!

- - - -

Also, has no-one figured Gimli's box out yet? _tsk tsk... _lol, well, it's probably my fault: He made a shrine-type thing for Galadriel's gift. Yeah, so that's what that is in case anyone's wondering.

Also, no-one get me wrong: This is _not_ Faramir angst, it is _Legolas_ angst! Don't forget that, and don't forget that in the next few chapters we will have major tons of that. Sorry if that disappoints anyone... ;-)

Toodles!

-Skande

"Thanks for shopping at Skande-mart, your one-stop-shop for all your elf-angst needs! Please leave your reviews at the door and be sure to visit us again. Thank you, and have a nice day!"

:-)


	5. The Voices of my People

- - -

Grey Ship, Grey Ship, Can You Hear Them Calling...

- - -

Chapter Five

- - - -

The Voices of my People

- - - -

Aragorn's decided steps carried him back to the door far too quickly, and for what seemed the hundredth time that day, there he hesitated. What was he going to do? Just walk in, tell Legolas he had been wrong, the elf hadn't deserved what the King of Gondor had said to him, and ask if they could just shake it off and forget all about it? Not likely.

But then again, if past experience was any guide, Legolas would probably not even understand why Aragorn was apologizing, and insist that the fault was not the man's.

_Far more than you can say for yourself…_ His mind reproached, causing him to wince inwardly. He was only beginning to fully realize what had been happening. And he was realizing that it probably happened far too often.

Knowing that the first step was all, literally, in the first step, Aragorn squared his shoulders and took one step forward, pushing open the door. Determined and resolute, he continued forward almost before what he saw registered in his mind, stopping him in his tracks.

"Legolas…?"

- - - -

Legolas was beginning to see a pattern in these painful attacks of the sea-longing. The worst time had been in the hallway several days ago, but that day had also been the anniversary of his Father's departure to Valinor. His emotions, already raw and hurting, had been open and easily subjected to the call of the sea, and denying it had only caused more pain to his already over-wrought senses. Now the call was plaguing him once more, playing on the hurt Aragorn's words caused him. A cruel, but effective attack.

"I'm sorry, mellon-nin…" He choked past the pain, full of such self-loathing and guilt as he was sure he had never felt. It occurred to him only briefly that the sea-longing was enhancing the pain, but even that was soon pushed from his mind.

Breathing in heavy gasps, He shakily attempted to straighten, but froze a moment later. His wide eyes flew back to the door, his keen elven senses kicking in even now.

"Valar, no..." He whispered, pulling himself to his feet. Why was Aragorn coming back? His eyes darted frantically about, finally alighting upon the side-door on the opposite side of the room. He literally flew for the escape it provided, trying to quiet his breathing past the nearly debilitating pain that still racked his body.

He tore the door open and spun to the other side, nearly slamming it behind him in his haste. He caught it at the last moment and eased it shut the last half-inch slowly, using both hands.

Sighing in relief, he rested his hot forehead against the cool wood a moment, before releasing the handle and backing away a step.

"Going somewhere, my Prince?"

Legolas started, spinning around at the sound of the voice. He did not relax to see that it's owner was Khemet-Karon, Lord of the Haradrim.

He was given no time to answer the man's question, for at that moment a set of strong arms wrapped around his chest from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. Legolas instantly began to struggle, kicking out as Khemet-Karon took a step forward. It might have had something to do with the elven prince's weakened state of semi-awareness, but the Haradaic leader was able to easily step around Legolas' wild attacks, smashing the hilt of his ceremonial blade into the side of the elf's head. The blow stunned the elven prince, but he managed to keep a fragile grip on consciousness as the three Haradric men pushed the door open and dragged him back into the room.

- - - -

Faramir's first clue to approaching awareness was an intense throbbing in the side of his head. There was something cold under him, but that was not surprising… It took very little time for memories to return, and with them a burning rage towards the betrayal of the Haradric delegates. He ought to have known those dogs were up to little good the moment they set foot in his city!

The rage building in his chest did little to abate his headache, and so Faramir forced himself to calm down and think rationally. First off, he really ought to make sure he could move. With effort that seemed oddly disproportionate to his injury, Faramir lifted both arms, now unresponsive weights, and then cracked his eyelids open.

The surprise he felt as he realized where he was brought him the rest of the way back to reality. Above him, accented in dim flickers of candlelight, loomed the sloping dome of the Citadel vaults… Exactly where he'd been when he'd met with his earlier misfortune.

Groaning, the Steward sat up, one hand reaching for the sticky mass on his right temple that marked the reality of the Haradrim's attack. Half groaning and half growling, since anger was more productive at the moment than pain, Faramir rolled onto his knees and pulled himself up to survey the room.

He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but the torches on the wall had nearly burned themselves out, which meant it had been several hours at least… More than enough time for the Haradrim to get to the King…

Praying against fate to the Valar, Faramir laboriously reached the doors… And tried to open them. Cursing vehemently, Faramir tugged angrily at the burnished bronze handles, met only with a slight clanking on the other side that suggested a chain and lock.

He was trapped.

The King of Gondor was in danger… possibly captured or hurt already, as well as countless others, and Faramir was very likely the only one in the city who knew what was going on. His advantage was that the Haradrim _didn't _know that. If they'd realized he'd seen their faces before he'd blacked out, they would have in no account left him alive. Secrecy was far too vital to the success of their endeavors.

Now, all the Steward needed was some way to get that information to the Citadel Guard. Trying to think objectively, Faramir began to pace, taking deep breaths. His situation was not as hopeless as it seemed. He was just… Surrounded by hundreds of feet of solid stone. Far from the nearest patrol route. And soon, left without light.

Sighing heavily, Faramir backed against the heavy door and sank to the floor.

He was in trouble.

---

Aragorn frowned, wondering why the room was empty. It was not like Legolas to

so quickly flee, especially since Aragorn had already left, but what was more confusing was that the only other exit was the side door on the far side of the room. It led only to the kitchens and storerooms; if Legolas had left he would have headed towards his own quarters, or more likely, the gardens: in which case Aragorn would have seen the elf in the hallway on the way back to the Council Room.

Puzzled, but having already made his decision, he stepped forward towards the opposite exit, intending to continue his search. He pulled up short, however, as the door swung open and two armed Haradric escorts pushed Legolas into the room.

"Legolas?" Aragorn cried in alarm, trying to move forward. He froze as Khemet-Karon followed his warriors, one whipping out a sword and placing it at Legolas' throat. The threat was obvious.

"We have the elf, King Elessar." The Haradaic man informed plainly as Legolas was dragged up beside him and forced to his knees, giving the motionless King of Gondor a full view of his friend's pain. "Try to move against our will, and he will bear the punishment."

"Why are you doing this?" Aragorn, after a tense silence, spoke.

"Why else?" The Haradaic Delegate answered simply. "For my own profit."

"What do you want, then?"

"Is that not obvious? I want Gondor."

"You won't get it." The King replied dangerously.

Khemet-Karon smirked. "I thought you would be of that opinion." He nodded towards Legolas. "Which is why I have made my latest move… Incentive enough?"

In obedience to a wordless command, two of the Haradric men skirted Aragorn to secure the door behind him, being sure to give him a wide berth in spite of the threatening crossbows aimed at his chest. Despite their outer assurances of loyalty, they were slightly unsettled by the weight of unbridled fury blazing in Aragorn's face. The King of Gondor was not a man to be crossed.

His attention, however, was elsewhere. Khemet-Karon issued Legolas' guards a sharp command in a foreign dialect, and they hauled Legolas up by the tunic, hastily wrapping his wrists in rough cord despite the fact that the elf sagged between them, barely conscious.

The foreign delegate's observation throughout the past few days had paid off. He had guessed that the King of Gondor had but one weakness, and that was through those he loved. He had been right, for Aragorn did not move under weight of this threat, though no bonds restrained him. The Haradric man grinned, enjoying this new power, gained through such a simple thing.

Aragorn's jaw muscles tightened, his hands clenched in white-knuckled fists at his side. There was only one thing in all of Middle Earth that kept him from lunging at the man, and that was the curved blade at Legolas' neck. The elf's shoulders slumped, his chin on his chest and his breathing coming in shallow, ragged gulps.

His best friend's state was not lost on Aragorn, and it worried him more than he wanted to confess. Had Legolas been at full health, they might have attempted a joint escape, but right now, Legolas was obviously not up to such a thing, and the sudden weakness upon the usually strong elf frightened Aragorn like few things could. He didn't know what exactly was wrong with him, but at any cost, he was going to make sure Legolas made it out of there alive.

The Haradrim considered Aragorn for a moment. He knew the elf was held close to the King's heart, but he wasn't sure quite how close. Turning to one of the warriors restraining Legolas, he nodded almost imperceptibly. Without hesitation, the warrior pulled back and smashed his fist into Legolas' stomach. The elf, whose eyes had been closed, did not anticipate the blow until it reached him, driving the air from his lungs with a pained cry that he was unable to hold back.

"Stop!" Aragorn shouted, face blazing as he took a step forward before freezing once more as the sword was replaced at the elf's neck.

Legolas was doubled over, breathing heavily and Khemet-Karon laughed wryly. "Well, well. It seems, my lord—" The man circled the heaving elf, Eyes fixed on Aragorn's raging face, "that this elf is very dear to you. I am sure you would not wish him come to further pain."

Aragorn's breathing shook with barely-controlled fury as he expelled a heavy breath, ignoring the man.

"Legolas?" Aragorn questioned urgently, "Mellon-nin, are you alright? Can you hear me?"

Legolas groggily nodded past the haze that fogged his thoughts, but he did not try to open his eyes or straighten to meet his best friend's gaze. He was afraid he would not retain awareness if he even tried to do so.

"Need to see more?" Khemet-Karon taunted, signaling the warrior who again struck the elf, this time across the face.

"Stop this!" Aragorn demanded, infuriated. "What do you want of me? Name it!"

"You, in exchange for him." The Haradric informed plainly. "Or we'll kill him right now."

"Fine." Aragorn snapped, "Take me, but don't touch him again."

"So obliging, my liege. You are making my task much simpler."

The Haradric guard seemed to respond to silent commands in a way that unnerved Aragorn deeply, but he did not struggle as the waiting soldiers quickly swooped in to tie his hands and secure his cooperation.

"Now let him go." Aragorn ground out flatly as he was tied.

"I will, of course. If naught else, I do keep my word." The Haradric leader smiled, but instead of reinstating hope, the look caused Aragorn's heart to drop.

The desert-born man turned to the elf, who was still struggling to regain his breath. "However, I am not so foolish that I will not take certain… measures, to insure that he will not follow us." Khemet-Karon drew his dagger slowly, twisting it in front of the elf's face as the fair creature blinked at it, struggling to breathe.

Aragorn's eyes widened in horror as he realized what the man was going to do. "No!" He cried, "Do not touch him!" He was ignored.

The Haradric man crouched in front of the half-conscious elf, holding the dagger lightly, almost casually. Abruptly, he reached forward and cut two shallow strokes across Legolas' left shoulder. The elf's mind barely even registered the extra pain, but he shivered slightly as warm blood began to trickle down his skin, staining his tunic crimson.

Khemet-Karon glanced at Aragorn, before smiling in satisfaction. Without further ado, the Haradric man tightened his grip on the dagger and plunged it deep into the flesh of Legolas' shoulder, directly over the X he had made moments before. Aragorn's cry was the only one that broke the silence, for no sound escaped Legolas' lips. The added agony finally sent the elf's mind retreating into the sanctuary of darkness, and the soldiers holding him let him slip from their grasps and fall to the floor, unconscious.

Aragorn watched in horror as his best friend's eyes slipped shut and he crashed to the floor, rolling limply onto his back and laying there motionless, face ashen and lifeless.

"NO!" Aragorn surged against the men holding him, who had to bend all their strength to keeping the enraged King from escaping their grasp. "Legolas? Legolas!"

The King of Gondor was gagged and blindfolded moments later, but he still struggled wildly, feeling almost nauseous with worry for his friend when he received no answer.

What had they done to his friend?

What had _he_ done?

_Forgive me, Legolas… _Was his last thought, before an expertly placed blow smashed into the back of his skull, and the soothing arms of darkness welcomed Gondor's King.

- - - -

I

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Hello everyone! After seven long months, I'm finally back, at least for a little while! Since all you wonderful reviewers have been so patient/persistent/convincing, while waiting for this chapter and bugging me to update (Especially Deana! FOUR e-mails? Sheesh! ;- ))

I

I

I

- - - -

Ertia: Thanks for offering to defend me, lol—but I think real life has finally taken the hint and found fun picking on someone else, lol!

Icy Sapphire15: Many thanks for reviewing, and for the lasso too! (yeehaw!)

Rasberry: Fear not! I have no intention of doing the Thundera Tiger thing, but I'm not above being mean to my favorite characters! ;-) Thanx for the review!

Blayze: I'm flattered you like the story so much! You must let me know if any of your guesses as to the outcome were right! Cheers!

Kat: (falls for Jedi mind trick…) Thanks for the review! And yes, as always, the Haradrim are evil!

Deana: Many thanks for being such a pest! This chapter's for you! ;-)

SivanShemesh: Thanks a ton! I wouldn't call this story perfect, but I'm flattered it appears that way! Here's your update!

- - - -

And furthermore, a great big thanks and a great big hug to: Shadow Topaz, BanbieBunny, Kourin Lucrece, silent planet, Black as the Shadows, Redleef, pygmy in the rain, Daethule, Kestrel of Valinor, kitten, kel, katquest2000, Wren Birgitte, Me, Moi-inconnue, blazing fire , Lyndsay, mels, Star-Stallion, Elf771, lolly pop3, Gozilla, Aya-Shoru, Irish Anor (the ever-faithful!), Snow-Glory, brakensilver, mystic23, Alatariel Narmolanya,

Elensar, Lirenel, Mellaithwen, eepy, Jackie, BitterLee, Barbara Kennedy, kel, and anyone else I might have left out! Skittles all around, and do try to hang in there until the next update!

Toodles!

-Skande

(P.S. If you really, _really_ missed me while I was gone, don't hurt my feelings and forget to drop a review! ;-) )


	6. Who have gone before me

**- - - -**

Grey Ship, Grey Ship, Can You Hear Them Calling?

**- - - -**

Chapter Six

**- - - -**

Who have gone before me…

**- - - -**

Resourceful as ever, Faramir had extinguished all but one of the torches he had previously lit around the room, using that one torch upon its last flicker of breath to ignite another, and so on. And yet in spite of all his best efforts, he was no closer to discovering an escape from the dark chamber in which he was now a helpless prisoner, entombed beneath countless tons of rock. In the entire chamber, there was absolutely nothing to use as a weapon or tool—nothing but shelf upon shelf, row upon row of books and manuscripts, each a priceless shard of Gondor's history... Each completely and utterly useless.

Doubtless, Faramir rationalized, this had happened to somebody before—some careless student or wayward soldier must have locked themselves into this room, or another similar one at one time, and had found their way out eventually. Resourcefulness, then, was the key. There was always a way: without exception in these sorts of quandaries, there was a way out.

Find it, and his problem would be solved.

However, the more angles at which he viewed his situation, the more complicated vantages he took to the scenario, the less chance Faramir felt he had of ever solving his most pressing and immediate dilemma. How in Valinor was he going to get out of that cursed little chamber?

For the millionth time, he bent to examine the hinge of the great door. He found it just as sturdy and strong now as it had been five minutes before, and even if he might have managed to take the door off its massive hinges entirely, the chances of it swinging inwards and crushing him to death were just as probable as that of it swinging outwards. He very much doubted that the pressure of his own comparatively small weight would have made one ounce of difference…. Even if he would have been able to dislodge the door, of which he was very much incapable at the moment.

In lieu of the city's history, he had also spent some time searching every crack of every wall for some sort of secret passage or trapdoor. Of course, it made sense that the place's most valuable treasures would also be guarded in its most well-protected room, and he could hardly blame the ancient building's architects for his problems ages later, but that still went but a short way towards aiding him.

Sitting on a short wooden stool in the very middle of the flickering chamber, Faramir brooded, chin in hand as he stared at the ironwork door, beside which the torch sputtered and wheezed as if afraid he would somehow forget about it and it's impending expendability.

Two torches left.

**- - - - **

_Where am I? _

Legolas realized, in some calm, unconcerned part of his mind, that the first thing anyone forgets when they are knocked out is where they last were when they were conscious. Even now, try as he might, the elf could not remember a thing. He had the nagging feeling that something terrible had happened, and that he should definitely not be in so much physical pain, but the rest of his mind refused to cooperate and resume its usual thinking patterns.

Around him was death.

He struggled to bring himself back into focus and ignore this last thought, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. His mind was screaming at him, urgently warning him that the walls around him were stone, and the ground beneath him was stone, and the world that suffocated him was nothing but cold, unfeeling stone. And it was here that he remembered where he was.

With a startled gasp, his eyes flew open. For a moment, the vaulted stone ceiling above him seemed to swell, coming down with malicious intent to crush him into himself.

And then, in his mind's eye, he saw Aragorn, and he knew he had to push away his phobia and warn someone of what was happening—If Gondor had not already fallen.

The sea-longing, he realized. That had to have something to do with this. All his trouble in the past several weeks had stemmed from it. This entire mess was his fault. If he'd been anywhere near his normal strength he'd have had little trouble deflecting the Haradrim's attack. But now, as direct result of his weakness, all of Gondor was in danger—he'd been able to gather that much at least from the blurred memories of what had happened.

He drew in a deep breath, shifting fully onto his back and blinking to retain focus. He managed to bring one hand upwards, ever so slowly, to the sticky, bloody mass on his temple, before the seemingly-heavy limb fell back to the cold tile.

Strength was returning, if slowly, and for the first time in hours the sea-longing seemed to be receding, and for that he was immensely grateful. He had just gathered his nerve for another attempt at rising, when the door on the far side of the room slammed open.

**- - - -**

No sooner had Gimli stepped out into the hall, then a young guard rushed around the corner, immense relief flooding his features as he spotted the dwarf.

"Master Gimli!" Haelon bowed breathlessly, as if he had come a good way, and swiftly, "Request of your presence in the main foyer by Captain Thaedd. It seems that everyone else—well, that is they're missing, sir."

"What?" Gimli roared, dark brows furrowing threateningly.

To his credit, the lad barely flinched. "We—the Captain thought it best not to disturb the queen, as her child is soon expected and we are not yet sure if the situation is serious. The Captain would however, like to see you as soon as possible in the main hall, if you please."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Gimli boomed as he brushed past the young guard. "Time doesn't wait for anyone!"

When they arrived, Gimli half-running to the younger human's brisk walk, almost the entire palace patrol not on duty had been gathered in the open main hall. Captain Thaedd—a tall, silver-haired veteran whose deep loyalty and long service to Gondor was well renowned and completely unshakeable, was finishing organizing the troops into search parties when the two newcomers arrived at his side.

"Master Gimli." Thaedd sketched a quick, yet adequately respectful bow of acknowledgement.

"What's going on here?" Gimli demanded impatiently. "What's this I hear? Who's missing?"

"Everyone, sir, that's the problem." Thaedd returned briskly and professionally, although visibly flustered. We believe that Lord Faramir has been missing all day, while King Elessar and the Elven Prince were last seen in the Delegation Hall. Likewise, the Haradaic envoys are also unaccounted for. We are, I must admit at a loss, and have only just realized the full potential of what has happened. The guard was assembled as soon as possible, although I wished to assure myself of your safety before they were split up."

"Good, good—" Gimli huffed. "I'll go with you to the Delegation Hall, and you can send them off if we don't find them"

"Of course—" Thaedd nodded, first to Gimli and then to his officers, and in moments the entire hall had been silenced into long, straight columns of grim-faced soldiers. Captain Thaedd quickly selected eight men, including Haelon, which he retained for the search party. "A guard already looked in briefly already, but I was heading there to make a more thorough search."

Gimli, far more worried than he wanted to admit, only nodded brusquely, wordlessly leading the way out of the hall.

Captain Thaedd walked briskly by his side, completely unfazed by the dwarf's superior attitude. He was wise enough, and had been in his position long enough to know exactly where the dwarf stood in both his king's eyes and in political standing, and since King Elessar, Lord Faramir and Prince Legolas had all seemingly disappeared in the last hour, it was not unexpected the Gimli might take control of the situation. And, after seeing the fierce devotion he had for all three missing, especially Aragorn and Legolas, there were few quick or willing to stand in his way.

The one-sided conversation held under Gimli's breath as they marched might have been comical had the situation been any less grave. As it was, the dark shadow of dread and foreboding had taken too deep a root in all their hearts to be so easily dismissed. None of them had any doubt that something akin to foul play had taken place, and the longer it went on the deeper grew the unsettling idea that if they even found the missing men and elf, one or more may not have survived whatever tragedy had flung its shadow over Gondor that night.

The urgent impact of boots on marble and the clinking of armor and metal was all that was to be heard as the sound echoed up dark empty hallways, eventually ceasing as the tall arched doorway was approached. With brisk nods from their superior, two armed guard flanked the entry while another threw the door open, and the entire troop filed into the room, swords drawn and ready for anything…at least, anything but what they found.

On the far side of the room, half concealed by the thick oaken council table and cloaked in shadows, a pale flicker of gold gleamed out of the darkness. Legolas lay on the cold tile floor, eyes half-lidded and tunic covered in blood. He was alive at the least, for his chest rose and fell raggedly and he seemed to be trying to move. Gimli had frozen for a moment in shock, but Thaedd was already motioning for the guards to finish searching the room.

"Legolas!" Gimli cried at last, throwing himself forward to kneel at the elf's side. His voice was thick and rough with emotion as his wide eyes took in the blood covering the elf and the floor, most of which had already dried. Haelon quickly helped him ease the prince up, and between them they helped him to sit.

"Gimli?" The elven prince breathed softly, his voice painfully distant.

"Oh, you fool elf!" Gimli breathed, his voice riddled with worry. "What did you get yourself into this time…Can you hear me? What happened?"

Legolas blinked, wincing in the sharp torchlight as he seemed to concentrate on understanding what _was_ happening.

"I—The—Haradrim—" He murmured at last and with great effort. "Took—they took—Estel…"

"Estel?" One of the guards, who had completed their circuit of the room and gathered close, asked in confusion. "Who is that?"

"Ah, but I've heard the name before—" Gimli frowned as the elf slumped on his shoulder. "No, no—don't do that laddie—stay wake, stay awake! Who is Estel? Who did they take?" He gently slapped the elf's face as his head lolled and his eyelids fluttered. "Stay with me, lad!"

"Estel…?" Legolas seemed to phase back into reality for a moment.

"Yes, who is Estel?" Gimli asked urgently. "Who did this to you? Where is Aragorn?"

"The Haradrim… They took him—" Legolas murmured.

Gimli exhaled sharply, looking back up at the guards. "That's it! He means Aragorn! Estel is his elvish name!"

With this revelation, the room was instantly thrown into a chaotic melee of noise and shouts. The situation had finally registered—their king had been abducted, and that by the very foreign delegates who were guests in their city, and now the soldiers were abuzz. Thaedd gave orders with a quick efficiency that did justice to his long service and position as soldiers rushed with tightly-controlled urgency to secure the doorways. Still other officers scurried away to begin deploying the guard in a search of the palace, while, assured of their dangerous premonitions, reinforcements were sent to strengthen the guard of the pregnant queen's chamber.

"Get a healer in here!" Captain Thaedd called. Two other guards unceremoniously cleared the contents of a long, low table against the wall on the far side of the room, and then helped to transfer the Elven Prince to it from the floor—although much to their chagrin, Legolas seemed to have recovered as soon as one of the guards had helped him to drink from a water-flask. Now he was trying to sit up and giving Haelon, who was in his turn trying to keep him on the makeshift cot until the healer arrived, more trouble than the young human could handle.

"No, I mean it—" The elf protested dimly, swatting away the guards' hands. "I'm fine!"

Gimli who had once again gone to watch for the healer's arrival growled as he returned to Legolas' side. "I'm very much in doubt of that!" He scoffed, although he grudgingly helped the elf to sit up. "That's exactly what I say every time I get picked up off the floor."

"Gimli—" Legolas tried to blink away the multiple images of the dwarf that danced before his vision. "I'm honestly fine, the wound does not effect me—"

"Doesn't effect you?" Gimli echoed incredulously, still half-supporting the elf. "You were nearly stabbed through, you blasted elf. You can't sit up straight and you got a mighty fine conk on the head, I might add."

"I—I know, but Aragorn…" The elf groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

"I know, lad, we're going to find him!" Gimli comforted awkwardly. "Don't worry—"

"Don't worry?" Legolas laughed wryly. "They want him to give up Gondor! He traded himself for me. I knew something like this would happen—"

Gimli's face was dark with fury as he patted the elf on the shoulder, the touch belying nothing of the rage he wanted to take out on every last one of the Haradric delegates who had done this to his friend. And Aragorn was still missing.

The healer arrived quickly, and while he bandaged up Legolas' shoulder the elf insisted on joining in the search. Gimli would have liked nothing better than to see the archer at rest in his own room and bed, but unfortunately he knew from experience that he would never stay there, and eventually conceded. He swore to himself however, as the healer reluctantly let Legolas stand, that the Prince would come to no further harm if Gimli had anything to say about it.

"Legolas?" He interrogated as the elf painstakingly strapped on the weapons, brought to him by another guard. "Do you know where Faramir is? Did they take him too?"

"I don't know." Legolas admitted. "I haven't seen him all day."

"Then we should continue searching for him as well." Thaedd, who had been standing by, formulated a plan. "In fact, we have a greater chance of finding him now then the King. I wish you would not accompany us, Prince Legolas, since I know the King would wish that you put yourself in further danger, but I will submit if Master Gimli agrees to it."

Gimli noticed, with some surprise, that a shadow passed over Legolas' face at the second mention of Aragorn, but it was a fleeting thing and quickly vanished. "I assure you, I am well." Legolas guaranteed firmly, although his appearance did not exactly support this statement. "I could not forgive myself if Aragorn or Faramir came to harm on my account, and I would not be left behind."

"As you wish." Thaedd nodded, reassembling the scattered contingent. "Let's move out."

**- - - -**

_Faramir._ Faramir would get him out of this mess.

So sped the king of Gondor's thought patterns as consciousness resurfaced.

And then he was going to kill that Haradric beast for what he had done to Legolas.

At the moment, however, even pouring every ounce of pent-up rage into this single thought was not enough to block out other thoughts entirely—especially the most glaring, prominent one.

This was entirely his fault.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, this mess was Aragorn's monster; he had created it and now it was back to stare him in the face.

_Valar, I'm sorry Legolas...   
_

Never in his life had Aragorn experienced such heart-rending guilt, no sorrow so crushing that it drove into his heart like a blade.

How was he ever going to make this right?

He couldn't. That cold hard fact grabbed onto his gut and twisted.

Aragorn took stock of his surrounding without opening his eyes, knowing it could well serve to his advantage if anyone guarding him thought him to still be unconscious. His hands were tied behind his back. He was lying on his side on something hard, and the air around him was extremely cold, yet thick and somewhat stale. As this registered in the King's mind, his hopelessness grew. There was only one place in Gondor he could be—if indeed they were still in Gondor—and that was far beneath the White City. The immense labyrinth of catacombs beneath Minas Tirith and inside the mountain had long ago been sealed off, yet somehow a way must have been found into them, and consequently, into the very last place anyone would search for him.

Things just kept getting better and better.

**- - - -**

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound seemed to echo in his head.

Tap, tap, tap.

For nearly an hour, Faramir had replaced his ceaseless pacing with circuits of the small, agonizingly familiar room, rapping on the walls and bookshelves in a monotonous continuation of his search for a passage.

Not that he really expected to find one.

He passed the torch-holder yet again, and again moved his hand up about four inches, continuing his repetitive knocking pattern around the room.

Tap, tap, tap.

_They should have hit me harder._ Faramir thought wryly. _Better I had never awoken than I be insane by the time they find me… If they find me…_

Tap, tap, thump.

Mid-knock, Faramir froze, hardly daring to breathe.

_Thump, thump,_ he tried again. Still the same hollow, echoing thrum. Heart racing, the steward of Gondor swiftly opened the wooden panel across the shelf he'd been knocking on. An odd gap in the rows of books caught his attention, and he reached into it. Rather than meeting the back of the bookshelf as he had expected, his hand continued on, farther than the shelf was obviously deep. The air around his outstretched fingers grew cold, and his heart leaped into his throat as he realized what he had finally discovered.

The passageway.

Now he had to find a way to get into it.

Pulling back a short ways, groping fingers found the real back of the shelf and fumbled across it in search for a key or lever of some sort. It had to be there!

At first, the only sound that broke the silence aside from the intense pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears was the soft murmurs of his fingers brushing the wooden back of the shelf. Presently, however, Faramir became aware of a third sound, which seemed to draw continually nearer.

Footsteps.

Hastily, Faramir jumped away from the bookshelf, sliding the wooden over-panel back into place and moving towards the door. As he had suspected, footsteps were drawing up the hall, and a moment later they stopped directly in front of the heavy door.

Glancing urgently about for some manner of weapon, Faramir snatched up the remaining torch as chains rattled at the door.

Standing by the table in the center of the room was a slender, knee-high plaster figurine of Varda, Queen of the Valar. Faramir's own irreverent motives repulsed him, yet it appeared to be the only weapon around. Hesitant, but running out of time, the Steward of Gondor picked up the statue, and wielding it over his shoulder like a cudgel, took up his post by the door, extinguishing the torch and throwing it down.

The heavy metallic clinking of chains stopped, something heavy, a lock, likely, clattered against the door, and it pushed open just enough to admit an armed Haradric guard, who squinted into the dark room with little success.

_Valar forgive me…_ Faramir prayed quickly, before drawing back his arm and smashing the statue with all his might into the face of the Haradric warrior. Shattering plaster was sprayed across both the room and the hallway outside it, the sound drowning out the guard's howl. Dropping the remaining stub of the figure, Faramir shot through those accursed doors and out into the freedom of the hallway beyond.

The halls were completely dark, and even though he knew the place like the back of his hand, Faramir found himself constantly running into walls or pillars in his scramble for the open air of the hallways above. Panting as he dashed up countless flights of stairs, he was barely aware of his lack of pursuit. Even so, he did not consider himself past all danger yet, and did not slow for even a moment—until he rushed headlong into another body.

**- - - - **

_Well, Chapter Six is here! Clap, clap, hurrah, whoop-de-doo and all that. :-) But I do have an announcement to make, which includes some good news and some bad news… _

_The bad news is this: I won't be posting any more stories on this account, nor do I plan to continue either "Unbreakable" or "Weight of the World." However, I wouldn't mind of someone were interested in finishing one of them—especially "Weight of the World." is the e-address in case anyone's interested. _

_The good news, however, is that I haven't given up fan-fiction entirely, and since what I always wanted to do was a Legolas/Aragorn friendship series, I have started another account called "Glimpse of Angels" where I hope to see you all in the future. In fact, the first installment of "The Namaarie Legacy" was posted today! I'd love to hear what y'all think of it!_

_Again, I **do** plan to finish writing Grey Ship! (Not that I could safely do otherwise, lol) So until then, you should be seeing me both here and under the name "Glimpse of Angels."_

So, in the meanwhile, many thanks to:

**EveningCatMoon**—Hey there! Well, I'm flattered my story could compete with Teen Titans! I'm an undercover TT fan myself—Robin rocks, huh? He's coolest when he's Nightwing…. (cough cough) Oh, yeah where was I? Right! Rabid kittens and e-mail hound will plague my life if I don't update—so, in lieu of your threat here's a chap for you! Lol, thanks a ton for the review! (But you are so right—I am evil!)

**Boromir**—I'm doing more right now! Thanks for the review!

**Caunoiech**—(toasts) Thanks for the review—now hand over the Dr. Pepper and no-one will get hurt! (Ahem, cough, cough, puppy dog eyes) Please? ;-) Anyhow, keep it up! I live on both!

**Mellaithwen**—well, since I've always had a dread fear of Mickey Mouse—here's your update:-)

**Blayze**—Gasp! Of course I still love you guys! Lol, glad I could surprise you! You know, I have thought of writing a colab, but since that won't be possible until I have my own internet connection, it may have to wait. BUT—and just in case anyone's interested—I _am_ looking for someone to take over writing Weight of the World… Just in case anyone's interested. Thanks for the review, and I hope this update was less of a hard wait then the last!

**Elensar**—Lol, do I detect a hint of sarcasm? Tsk tsk! Lol, here's your update!

**Silivren Tinu**—hey there, great to hear from you! Thanks you very much for the compliments, and I hope you keep reviewing! Toodles!

**Shadow Topaz**—ooh, ouch! Lol, no need for jabs! I'm back, and this updates for you! Cheers!

**Wren Birgitte**—Savvy! Here's your update!

**Ertia**—Yep, I'm back, but I'm not nice enough to fix it all up so soon! So, if you really wan to see me "make it all better" (lol) better stick around! Thanks for reviewing!

**Irish Anor**—Actually, you did spell etcetera right! Lol, many thanks for the faithful reviews, mellon-nin! You can, however, uncross those fingers, because Skande is back!

**BitterLee**—Hello again! Yeah, I agree-one seven-month period was plenty long to be away! I'm back, and hopefully you'll be seeing more chapters now within shorter periods! Thanks for reviewing!

**Deana**—Hello again! Thanks for the review, yada, yada—I know you've heard it all! (though I'm sure I'll be hearing from you again before the next update!) Have fun, and as always, thanks again for the review!

Plus:

**lolly pop3**

**Evergreene**

**Princess Honey**

**Elven hope**

**yllom21**

**Outspoken Christian **

**Enigma Jade**

**Darkxaz **

**Tsuki no Lomelinde**

**Zublefir **

**bearleft**

**dawn **

**Masterarcher**

**kel **

**Bakajin **

**Carol Stevenson **

**Kata Malfoy**

**Setrinan**

**Trista**

I love hearing from y'all, and hope to see you around!

Toodles!

-Skande


	7. UPDATE

Ohmygod, it's been six years since I updated this story… whew.

In the distant possible case that any of my old readers are still out there… I'm still alive. Really. I lost the password to this account and the e-mail it was attached to, so that's why I never updated again. Just in case someone was wondering. :P

Anyhoo. Would anyone continue reading if I redid this story and tried to maybe finish it? You know. Six years later.

-Skande


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